The Worst Pies in London
by rhead-a-holyc
Summary: The price of meat was ridiculously expensive, after all. Implied death.


Mrs Lovett glanced out the window. It was raining again. Not that there was much to see, there rarely was. Very little changed in London. The dreary streets were the same, the bitter rain never changed, nor did the people rushing around as if their lives were any more important than anyone else's.

It truly was amusing how they never realised that _they didn't matter_. They could disappear and no one would notice the difference, other than their families, perhaps. She reckoned most of their families would be rather pleased about any of their deaths. People were vultures, caring for little beyond themselves. Nasty bunch the lot of them.

Her latest pie hit the table with a dull thud that caused the entire table to shudder. Mrs Lovett ignored the insects that fled from the inside of the pie in favour of inspecting the slightly burned underside. She shrugged, it wasn't as if anyone else would notice.

No one came into her shop. There hadn't been a person to come within a smelling distance of her pies in weeks. They tasted… well, there wasn't much she could put in there, now was there? Everything was simply so expensive nowadays. Meat especially! And you _absolutely_ _had_ to have meat in any pie. So she simply did what she could.

The bells at the door rang and Mrs Lovett's head shot up. Could it be? A customer? Today? What a surprise!

"What are you standing over there for? Do come in! Come in! Sit! Sit!" She all but shoved the newcomer into a chair. He would have been handsome when he was younger, not that he wasn't _still_ handsome, she thought belatedly. That cold and vengeful atmosphere was exciting. It was something she had seen worn on someone in _years_.

"Would you like a pie? Any pie? Or perhaps you would like some ale, with that?" She didn't give him time to give her an answer before setting the pie down before the man. He looked vaguely amused, but didn't touch the pie, watching her carefully. A cockroach scuttled out an open end of the pie, and the man's eyes followed the quickly moving bug before flickering back up to her with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't suppose you would know somewhere I could reside while in London?"

His dark blue eyes met her own brown ones. "Well, I suppose, sir. There's the place above the shop, sir. Empty for years, sir. Have the keys right here, sir. Would you like a look, sir?"

The man said nothing, but inclined his head. Standing only after she had returned with the keys in his head, and, even then, slowly despite never touching either the pie or the ale.

Mrs Lovett sighed at the wasted pie, and ale. She supposed she could serve it to someone else if they came along. Holding her skirt in her right hand, she climbed the stairs to the side of the Pie Shop. She could feel the man's gaze on her back. It was heavy, and she had to suppress the urge to twitch in discomfort.

She fumbled with the door for a minute, before it swung open to reveal the fairly small space. A larger space would have been occupied some time ago. This was small enough to go unnoticed, especially since it was right next to her Pie Shop.

"And what do you go by, if you please, sir?"

He glanced at her.

"Marvolo Riddle."

…oOo…

"Have you been complaining about meat, _again_ , Mrs Lovett?"

The ringing of the doorbell had become more common since the man, Marvolo, had arrived. Despite never actually eating anything, he entered her shop every day anyway, if only for conversation.

"Indeed, Mister Riddle. The prices are as high as ever, Mister Riddle. It is difficult to afford Mister Riddle. Business isn't too good, Mister Riddle," Mrs Lovett informed him in a sing-song tone.

"That seems like all you complain about nowadays, Mrs Lovett," Marvolo said, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I suppose I could help you with that… What do you suppose is the easiest meat to come by in London? What would your favourite be?"

"Oh, my dear Mister Riddle. It's not for me, Mister Riddle. It would depend on the customer, Mister Riddle. Some prefer something a little more holy, Mister Riddle, others prefer something a bit more British and loyal, Mister Riddle, some prefer something a bit more oily, Mister Riddle," Mrs Lovett smiled, an understanding light in her eyes. "I do suppose it would rather depend on what is easiest for you, Mister Riddle. I can work with whatever I get, Mister Riddle."

"Don't I know it, Mrs Lovett? None of it is any bother to me, anyway. Do be careful it doesn't run, my dear. I don't suppose you may like something a little more _magical_ , Mrs Lovett? A little rarer species, but I know exactly where to look, my dear Mrs Lovett."

Mrs Lovett thought she saw a flash of red in those eyes, but shook her head. It was merely a trick of her mind. Mister Riddle's eyes were blue, a beautiful blue, in her opinion. There were no other eyes like that in London.

"That sounds like it would be wonderful, Mister Riddle. I don't suppose that would be too difficult for you, Mister Riddle?"

"Nothing that would be out of my way, Mrs Lovett. In fact, it would be a pleasure, Mrs Lovett. I believe you can expect the first few tomorrow, Mrs Lovett. I have been bored these past few weeks."

The man left with barely another word. The look in his eyes, though, made Mrs Lovett want to shiver. Mrs Lovett could only imagine what the man was planning, but she knew that she would probably like it.

Mister Riddle didn't look like the type that would get caught, anyway.

 **…oOo…**

Mrs Lovett smirked as she watched people milling around the front of her Pie Shop. It hadn't taken long for the people of London to acquire a taste for her pies. It was a _unique_ taste after all. They wouldn't find anything like it in any of the other Pie Shops in London.

If they only knew exactly what they were eating… she doubted they would be as open to the pies as they were now. They definitely _wouldn't_ be eating the pies, that was for sure, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Mrs Lovett smirked.

The sound of creaking floorboards above her, told her that Mister Riddle was back, probably with more supplies. Just in time, too, they had been nearly out of pies. Mrs Lovett would have hated to turn anyone back after they had come all this way, _just for one of her pies_. That would truly be heart-breaking.

"Toby? Can you handle the shop for a minute while I get more pies?"

"Of course!"

There was no rest for the wicked, after all.

 **Written for Quidditch League Round 12: Beater 2 – Crossover [Plays/Musicals – Sweeney Todd]**

 **AN for the judge: Just in case, a brief summary of Sweeney Todd: Sweeney Todd was sentenced to life for some crime, and returns to London for his revenge on Judge Turpin, who took his wife from him and supposedly killed her. Mrs Lovett is in love with Todd, and owns the Pie Shop. Both are** ** _a bit_** **deranged.**


End file.
